


Life Is Real

by SittingOnACornflake



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Harry Potter References, M/M, Queen (Band) References, here i am praying someone will understand my queen inside jokes, i have no control over what i write, i meant this to be crack but my hands slipped, i've been listening to queen a bit too much to write this, john isn't mean he's just a pain, ringo saves the day, ringo saves the day multiple times, set in 2018, someone give him a hug, the summary is shit but i promise the fic is better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26514847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SittingOnACornflake/pseuds/SittingOnACornflake
Summary: George's jeans betrayed him (ie they teared exactly where they shouldn't have). John is way too happy about it and Paul isn't of any help. George's shame will never end unless someone steps in.Or: two Queen fans meet.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 30
Kudos: 38





	1. One Vision

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently going back to class is awakening strange fears in me. This is what I wrote (partly in class, of course) based on my eventful life.

“Oh shit oh fuck oh no, why, fuuuuuck!”

George sits back down as quickly as he can. He mutters various curses under his breath and closes his eyes for a second, trying to find a solution. Nothing comes to his mind.

He’s recognized that sound immediately. He's known what’s it’s all about as soon as he heard it. That tearing sound never announces anything promising, except if it's not _you_ who are concerned and that you like to make fun of your friends.

It's embarrassing. It’s even worse than having a hard-on in public in George’s opinion.

Generally speaking, he’s fucked.

More specifically, his jeans ripped.

There's no way George is standing up from his chair. Ever.

He's just going to root in this classroom until his butt is no longer distinguishable from his clothes.

Which is a shame, really. George was quite eager to leave the class only a minute ago, it's even the reason why he got up so quickly in the first place. Not that he doesn’t _like_ Mr. Martin’s class - it's one of his favourites out of the tremendous number of uni classes he attends to. If he's got to choose between learning everything about sampling and eating tacos, however, the choice is philosophically self-evident.

George's stomach takes this thought as its clue to growl loudly. George briefly wonders how long it will take him to not feel the hunger anymore. How many days does one take to faint with exhaustion anyway? Whatever the number is, George's sure it'll only take _him_ half of that time.

Sadly, longingly, as if being a ghost contemplating the living peacefully attending their business, he watches as the other people from his class slowly leave the room.

_They don’t know how lucky they are_ , he thinks as a girl – Maureen, is that her name? – speaks animatedly to a friend, bends to the ground to grab her bag, and in fact does everything George can't dream of doing now, including twirling past him.

George's eyes keep staring at the doorframe for a few seconds after Maureen and her friend have left.

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud slam just in front of him. He turns his head abruptly to see _John_ of all people, hand clasping his table like it’s his property. He's got a wide grin on his face.

George doesn’t like that sight. Nothing good ever occurred to him after seeing that wicked grin.

“Paul, please. Take your husband away,” George sighs tiredly, massaging his temples and feeling awfully close in spirit to his granny.

Of course Paul’s here too, standing just behind John. The two aren’t married – _not yet_ , as they like to remind everyone at least once a week – but they might as well be in George's opinion. Since they met the previous year, during George and Paul's first year, they've been like joined at the hip, to the point that no one including them is truly able to say when they actively started dating.

They certainly are _now_ , though. Paul gives a quick peck to John's cheek before stepping forward, casually leaning against his boyfriend.

“What’s it now, Hazza? Thought I’d never see you _not_ hungry after a class.”

“Things happen,” George groans under his breath. “Just ... Uh, I wanna talk to Martin about something. Just go without me. I'll join you two there,” he improvises.

_Like hell I’m going to join you in the worst place of all campus. My underpants will certainly not be on full display for all the bored fucks to see,_ he thinks decidedly, hoping Paul will comply and drag John away because really, the Third Year’s face is becoming more and more and preoccupying.

Unfortunately, Paul has decided otherwise.

“Martin’s already left, you sod. Rushed out of the room as if his pants were on fire. Didn’t you see that?”

George shakes his head, but it's John who replies.

“If you want my opinion, Macca, Georgie here was too focused on his own pants to pay attention on anyone else’s.”

Paul’s brows furrow and George can't do anything but stare in horror and shame as John goes on.

“Seriously love, one could have thought you'd hear that delightful ripping sound with your sharp ear. Your friend is now hiding a bare ass under his desk. _That’s_ why he won’t to stand up.”

John looks radiant, as if nothing could please him more than to tell his boyfriend about others' misfortunes.

George feels the slightest itch to slap him. Good thing he's against violence. Good thing he’s glued to his chair by an emergency, too.

Meanwhile, Paul's eyes widen. It's not long before he's laughing his head off.

“Really?” he asks George between two giggles that make George wonder if his friend actually deserves to be his friend. “Your jeans really ... You know ...?”

Paul doesn’t finish his sentence, too busing hiding his howling in John’s shoulder. He almost misses the sharp nod George gives him, but it only results in more laughter when he notices it.

George gives them – John's laughter is obnoxious, but what can he do about it? – thirty seconds. He counts in his head, trying to forget everything else. When he reaches twenty-six, he decides he's been kind enough.

“Yeah, it's funny and all, I get it,” he steps in abruptly. “Now won’t any of you lend me a jacket or something so I can retreat to the flat?”

John regains his composure, if only a bit, and shakes his head.

“Oh, no way. I insist on seeing your arse having a walk around the campus.”

George glances angrily at him but merely turns to face his friend.

“Paul?”

“Wait a minute,” Paul says, lifting a hand to make his point. “What do you mean, _his arse_? You're wearing underwear, aren’t you?”

“Of course I'm-” George spats before gasping.

_Is he really?_ Forgetting to put underpants on has happened to him before.

He looks down in a hurry and hooks a finger in the waistband of his jeans. Grey and brown cotton briefs come into view.

George lets out a relieved sigh before clapping a hand against his forehead.

_Of course. Of course I had to put on my fried chicken briefs. What a perfect day to make Queen inside jokes to the rest of the world. That certainly will be a sight – a vision, even._

He’d snigger if he wasn’t appalled. Instead, he silently swears he’ll only wear plain white or black briefs from now on if he survives this day.

Which isn’t something likely anyway. Not with John on board. George can see he's ready to drop another bomb and cuts him off as best he can.

“I’m wearing briefs, thank you very much Lennon.”

John deflates visibly. “So sad.”

He looks so disappointed that it actually makes George think of something.

“Wait a minute yourself,” he drawls, “are you so keen because it actually happened to you before? Did you ever walk through the campus with _your_ bare arse wiggling about?”

The tiniest blush appears on John's cheeks. “T’was in highschool, mind,” he mutters, looking away.

Paul nudges his boyfriend. “You serious?”

John nods in the same fashion George did when asked about it earlier.

“Well, I wished I’d been there to see it,” Paul smiles.

The tiniest smile appears on John’s face while the grin that had begun to spread on George's face falters. _So unfair. Why does John manage to get a supportive boyfriend and I don’t?_

He's not jealous of Paul, nor of John, really. Just of their relationship.

The two of them exchange a loving glance. George grimaces.

“Anyway!” John shouts, claiming their attention again. “Today’s about George, not about me. Can't we just relish the issue he's facing?”

“There wouldn’t be any issue if you lent me your sweater.”

“I don't see the point,” John objects cheerfully.

“Then leave.”

“Oh, no. I'd much rather witness your downfall if you don't mind.”

“Paul, please,” George says, turning to his friend again, eyes pleading.

“Paul, no!!” John intervenes. “Don’t give him your jacket, I beg you!”

He throws himself at Paul dramatically.

Paul looks torn between the two.

“He’s my friend, love. I can't leave him like that,” he objects feebly.

George half stands up, outraged by such Paul's irresoluteness, before remembering he'd better sit back down.

“Paul, look at me. It's only a jacket. John will still love you if you give it to me for five fucking minutes.”

But he's pleading to no avail. Paul only has eyes for John. The two seem to be lost in some silent, in-depth conversation of their own.

“Hey, silly lovebirds, I’m still here!” George says, speaking louder now. John's half sitting on George's desk. Paul and he are inching closer and closer. “God, don't kiss right here. I can't escape it, _please_. I can't leave my chair.”

John doesn’t even glance at him as he cups Paul's face. “What do you say, Macca dear?” he asks with that gentle voice he sometimes takes to talk to Paul and to Paul only. “How far do we have to take this to make your friend stand up?”

Their lips ghost against one another.

“Please!” George says, desperation showing in his voice. “You ... John, you don't really want to see my butt, do you? Paul, you're not gonna let your boyfriend see my butt?”

Someone coughs. It's not Paul nor John. George turns his head in horror and stares at the newcomer.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but what ... What’s this all about? John, whose butt do you wanna see ...?”

Standing next to the door as if not sure he actually wants to step in, is a short, blue-eyed guy.

“Ringo!”

John let’s go of Paul. Within a second, he's gripped the newcomer by the wrist and has dragged him by George's desk.

“You’re right on time,” John grins.

“Hey Paul, hey George,” Ringo says, still looking a bit bewildered.

George opens his mouth to greet him back but John is faster.

“Oh, but you remember Georgie here! That'll make things even better.”

“Of course I do. We attend to the same lecture on Friday morning.”

George blushes. Not because Ringo remembers him (of course, why would he do that?) but rather because John has succeeded in involving someone else in his shame. And someone he quite likes, too. Ringo, like John, is in his third year. He's failed some classes and is retaking them this year, along with his actual third year. (As to actually explain why John is in Paul and George's class in the first place – there's no reason. He just likes to do that sometimes: disturbing Paul from his studies, messing up with George's mind and overall irking up the teachers who aren’t aware that this auburn-haired lad they dread like the plague isn’t actually a real student.)

Oh, how George wishes Paul and John weren’t together sometimes. He'd tell the teachers in a second, get rid of John the next.

It's not that he dislikes John, no.

It's just that he doesn’t want everyone to see he's got fried chicken on his underpants, among other things. And if he could choose, he certainly wouldn’t pick a cool guy like Ringo to tell first, but rather someone he doesn’t wish he knew better.

Ringo turns to John and asks, “What are you up to this time? I'd still be waiting for you if I hadn’t known you were here!”

“Oh, sorry,” John sincerely says.

George practically gasps at them. To see John apologize isn’t something he was prepared to.

He _needs_ to ask Ringo what his technique is. It seems John _respects_ him to some extent. He definitely doesn’t respect George at all, because his next words make George blush even more.

“Georgie ripped his jeans,” he announced proudly.

“Are you really gonna tell anyone that comes by? It could last for a long time,” George says in the most unbothered tone he can manage. Which isn’t much, but that's what teachers say, right? The most important is to _try_.

“Of course.”

“I hate you.”

John doesn’t blink.

“Oh, isn’t that Brian in the corridor?” Paul suddenly asks.

“We'll see,” John says with his wicked grin before shouting to the top of his lungs, “Mr. Epstein!!!”

The sound of footsteps fades before becoming louder. Soon enough, a man dressed in a suit appears in the doorframe.

“Who called me?” he asks, a polite smile on his face.

“It’s ...” John begins, but he can't go on.

George bolts upright and steps in front of him, careful to keep his back turned from the assistant – and, unfortunately, very much turned towards John.

“It’s me, Sir. Mr. Martin was looking for you. I think it’s quite urgent - he'll be in his office.”

“But ...” John begins.

George elbows him and steps on one of his feet to silence him.

“Thank you. I'll go right away,” Brian says, utterly clueless.

As soon as he’s left, George hurries back to his chair, almost knocking it down in the process.

“Cons of you standing up: you're a spoilsport,” John announces. “As for the pros ... I saw what you were hiding.”

George hides his head behind his hands and lets out a long, deep sigh.

“Can’t you three just go away? I’ll manage without your help.”

At first, he didn’t really mind although he _acted_ as if. Now, though, the whole situation is beginning to really get on his nerves. And these three aren’t doing anything to help – quite the opposite, actually.

“George.”

He looks up from his hands and finds himself level to Ringo. The lad has kneeled in front of his desk and eyes him with a kind look on his face. To be honest, George has never seen him with any other look. Weren’t it for his current situation, he's sure he'd like him, and not only because of his ability to make John shut up. In fact, he already _likes him_ , but it’s the last thing he wants to think about right now.

“’M not crying,” he groans. “They’re just tiresome.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Paul cries out in an offended tone.

It's exactly George's point, but he doesn’t have the time to make it.

“Do you have anything against Queen?” Ringo asks him out of the blue.

“Uh ... No. No, I like them a lot.”

_A lot. As if._

“Great.”

Ringo stands up and takes off his hoodie before handing it to him.

“I did my laundry yesterday, so it's fairly clean,” he says with a small smile.

George can't quite believe it. A piece of clothing large enough to hide his butt. _Finally_.

“I wouldn’t care if you'd been crawling in the dirt with it. Thank you.”

George makes a quick job of tying the sleeves around his hips. He then stands up and turns on his heels, throwing a questioning glance at Ringo when he's done.

“We can't see anything,” the lad reassures him.

“So disappointing,” John comments, reminding George his two other friends are still here.

There's still that glimmer in John's eyes, the one that always indicates he's up to no good. It’s been there when he stole a master key and sneaked into twenty classes of the campus during the night, dutifully drawing short comics on all the boards. That same glance's been there when he convinced people from one of his lectures to all wear pyjamas for a day (he can be very convincing at times since it worked). Lately, it's been there that one time when he made George and Paul believe the finals had been brought forward by a whole week.

“I won’t forget it,” George says, words kind and aimed at Ringo while his eyes glare at the two others.

“Well, well, Paulie and I are going to eat at last,” John says, unbothered as always. “You'd better take Ringo back to your place, George. To give him his _precious-favourite-hoodie-don't-touch-it-John_ before you rip it off too.”

“I didn’t know – do you want it back now?” George asks, fingers already fidgeting with the sleeves.

“No, no, it's okay. But ... Do you care if I come with you? I wouldn’t know how to contact you to get it back otherwise.”

They could exchange their phone numbers, but George merely nods.

They leave Paul and John by the building doors. They walk past a lot of people, some George knows but mostly people he doesn’t. No one pays attention to them. No one sees anything. It's such a relief that George feels like hugging the other guy to thank him.

They walk in silence for a few more minutes before George breaks it.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.”

He doesn’t know why he's blurting this out, but it doesn’t seem to bother Ringo.

“Don’t worry, I’m not assuming you like to wiggle against nails,” he giggles.

George curses himself.

“Is it really your favourite hoodie?” he asks to distract the other lad. “This way,” he adds, motioning towards a block of buildings.

They cross a street before Ringo answers.

“I may be obsessed about Queen,” he says quietly.

For some reason, he seems to be a bit self-conscious about it. George doesn’t see why – after all, Ringo's butt is fully covered by a layer of jeans, and what more could one need to feel unstoppable? – but still smiles.

“You ever seen Q & AL in concert then?” he asks absentmindedly, too busy checking the hoodie is still hiding what needs to be hidden.

“Yeah! Last year. ‘t was fantastic. That's where I bought my hoodie ... Between that, the ticket and some more goodies, it cost me a full month of wages but I’m not complaining,” Ringo says enthusiastically.

“Thanks for trusting me with it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ringo waves, lightly stepping over a puddle. “I wouldn’t lend it to anyone, but you seem much more reliable than John anyway.”

“That's not hard to achieve,” George smiles.

“Oh, don't talk to me about it. Did he ever tell you about that day in first year, when his bag fell from the second floor?”

George shakes his head and Ringo proceeds to tell him everything about that glorious day.

“We were in class, and during the break we saw Stuart - that's one of our mates – walking outside. John waved at him but Stuart didn’t notice. Always in his own world, this one. And then Pete ...”

By the time they have exchanged three silly stories involving John’s antics, they also have climbed three flights of stairs and are standing in front of George's flat door.

“It’s messy,” George warns Ringo. “I share with Paul – well, and John most of the time.”

As if to prove his point, he opens the door. They're greeted by a sea of shoes taking all the space in the corridor.

“Just walk over them, honestly! That’s what we do. I'll be back in a minute, you can sit in the living room if you want,” George says before hurrying to his room.

When he comes back clad in a fresh pair of jeans, he's surprised to find Ringo still standing in front of the open front door. He's only a few feet in the flat, only slightly encroaching on the shoes' territory. It's as if they surround him, really.

“Here,” George says as he hands Ringo his hoodie. “Thanks a lot.”

Ringo takes it with a grateful, if a bit tense, smile.

“Actually, since you're ...” George begins, feeling bold. But Ringo hasn’t heard him; he's looking away and says, “Actually, I should go. I've got a class starting in fifteen minutes and I don't wanna miss it.”

“Oh! Sorry. You should have told me, I’d have hurried a bit, not tired you with my talking.”

Ringo pulls that awkward face but still reassures him that he enjoyed talking with him. He even tells him he'll gladly lend him his hoodie again if needed before hurrying away.

George hopes such a poof of generosity won’t be necessary. The chances for his jeans to rip twice in a row are pretty small, anyway.

So he's left there with brand new jeans that haven’t the tiniest scratch on them, and a few questions as well. Ringo was perfectly friendly at some points, but also rightly tense at some others, as if all he wanted was to flee.

But George will see him again, they've (sadly?) John in common after all. He should be able to spot a guy wearing a Queen hoodie around the campus. That’s something he’s got the eye for.


	2. Hoop diddy diddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe George is cursed. Maybe it's just his clothes that are cursed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind the title, I didn't have any idea and Headlong popped in my head.
> 
> Thank you for all your kind comments on the first chapter!! I still haven't come down from the high :)

Apparently, the campus is larger than George expected. The following days, his eyes scan the crowd of students wherever he goes but doesn’t spot Ringo even once. He has to refrain himself from asking John about his friend that has suddenly vanished into the air. _That_ would give him way too much ideas since he and Paul like to fancy themselves as matchmakers at the worst times possible. Still, George seizes every opportunity he has to hang out with the couple and whoever their other friends are. He tries to make a show of protesting and sulking in a corner in an attempt to avoid any question about his sudden change of behaviour. Making quips before resuming scrolling on his phone isn’t that hard; it’s almost his usual self.

He's waiting for Ringo to appear.

Three days go by and the lad still hasn’t shown up.

The irrational part of George's brain is beginning to build up a theory according to which Ringo is a knight who comes to the rescue of the ones who need it across the campus (or in John's vicinity, George hasn’t decided yet), only to fade away when his job is done.

It's quite sad. All George wants is to thank him again for saving him from dishonour. Well, _that_ and talk for a bit. It wouldn’t take Ringo that much time before he'd be free to go save someone else.

Obviously, things aren’t like that, George knows it. But still. He wishes Ringo would just show up. This situation is getting on his nerves. When you're constantly looking for someone, you begin to think about that person more and more. _It's perfectly logic_ , is what he likes to repeat himself every time he notices he’s thinking about the blue-eyed student for the umpteenth time of the day.

Finally, Friday morning comes. Around 8 o’clock, George rolls out of bed and puts on the clothes he’s chosen the night before – an effort he never makes, mind you – before dragging himself to Paul's bedroom door.

“Class begins in half an hour!” he calls, wincing at how loud his own voice sounds. “You coming or not?”

Someone shuffles behind the door, and a few seconds later Paul comes out, hair perfectly combed and looking very much awake. He carefully closes the door and whispers, “John’s still asleep.”

“Not anymore,” drawls a voice seemingly muffled by multiple layers of covers. “Say hi to Ringo for me, Georgie.”

It's only then that George remembers he indeed will see Ringo that morning. The class they both attend to is their first one that morning.

He sneaks a glance at his jeans while he follows Paul who rushed to the kitchen. All he hopes is these ones won't let him down.

Paul and he arrive just on time. They sit in the back and have barely turned on their laptops before the teacher begins to rant about a paper he just read and _absolutely_ needs to tell them about even though it has nothing to do with the chapter they’re studying, or even with the whole course. George doesn’t pay that much attention anyway. Ringo _is_ here, he knows that much. He can see his mop of hair a few rows away from him. It's really the only thing distinguishable from where he is. Ringo is so damn small that even his shoulders are hidden by the other people sitting between them. George holds back a smile. People who are smaller than him have always been people he gets on well with.

The teacher keeps on ranting for a couple more minutes before moving on with something less off-topic. Halfway through the class, George notices that his eyes tend to drift towards Ringo’s scalp more often than anywhere else, but who cares? Even Paul is too busy having a nap to notice.

The two hours seem to drag on forever. When they're allowed to leave, George stands up with achingly slow movements. He doesn’t know why but he feels like something unexpected could happen any moment. He might as well check his jeans while he can do it discreetly.

But his jeans are perfectly fine, Paul is still kipping and Ringo has already left, which means it's not today George will talk to him. He half expected it to be the case anyway. Maybe Ringo is avoiding him on purpose because he doesn’t like him. Somehow this proves to be a saddening thought, so George pushes it away and nudges Paul.

Once he's sent his friend away in the direction of his next class, George lets his feet take him to the cafeteria just outside his building. He always ends up there when he's got a free period like today. It's not that he dislikes the library, no. It’s just that he naturally heads there when he doesn’t know what to do, just like his thoughts keep drifting back to Ringo when he doesn’t keep them under control.

Thinking about Ringo can’t hurt him. Having a coffee with some pastries definitely does him good, so he doesn’t fight back either urges.

Coffee in hand, he's looking for a both free and clean booth. His face lights up when he spots one in the distance. _After all, things aren’t going_ that _wrong today …_

“Oh, I'm sorry!”

All of a sudden, and before he’s had time to process anything, there's coffee all over his t-shirt.

“Oh, Pattie,” he sighs.

He recognized her voice in an instant. The girl looks up to him, blushing like mad when recognizes him.

He takes a glance at his favourite t-shirt, the one he put on especially for today.

He's never leaving the flat without a scarf, or a jacket, or anything _covering_ again. Hell, he’s never leaving the flat without a full spare outfit again.

“I’m sorry George,” she says in earnest, looking so distressed George thinks she might cry. “You know I’m clumsy, right? I ...”

George forces on a smile. “It’s okay, Pattie. It happens sometimes ...”

_I just wish I wasn’t on the receiving end for once_ , he adds internally.

“I’ll get you another one,” Pattie says, glancing at George’s almost empty cup. “Just like you used to, right?”

She hurries away before he has time to reply. The booth he wanted is still free, so he sits in the corner and takes some time to assess the damage. It doesn’t cheer him up.

He's busy googling _can you clean coffee stains on a grey t-shirt if it's the love of your life_ when a hand waves in front of his eyes.

“Need that, maybe?”

It's Ringo. Grinning and handing him a now familiar hoodie with his other hand.

George can't help but groan.

“I’m cursed.”

It comes out more like another moan more than anything else, so he's not surprised when Ringo asks him to repeat.

“Why is it always me? And why is it always you?” George asks, changing the words a bit because he doesn’t want to sound too harsh.

“Dunno ...” Ringo shrugs before looking at him expectantly. “You alone? Can I sit?”

George nods and Ringo plops down on the chair in front of him. He carefully folds his hoodie and sets it on the table between them.

“So? Who did this to you?” he asks when he notices George doesn’t say anything.

“My ex-girlfriend,” George grimaces.

“Sounds like a whole drama.”

“Oh, no! Not like that!” George hurriedly when he understands his mistake. “Pattie’s a sweet girl. She's just clumsy. Really, really clumsy.”

He can’t help but smile as he recalls how much of a mess Pattie actually is.

“Is that a reason to ditch someone in your book?” Ringo jokes.

“Here you go, Geo!” a sweet, cheerful voice interrupts them.

Pattie has found him and is holding the paper cup with an air of deep concentration on her face. She sets it on the table. George makes a quick job of pushing Ringo’s hoodie out of the way. Pattie glances at Ringo, then at George again.

“See you later when you won't be busy,” she smiles.

They watch her spin on her heels and head back to her friends with almost floating strides.

“She reminds me a bit of ...” Ringo ventures.

“Luna Lovegood? Yeah, totally.”

George looks down at his shirt again. He might as well say it now.

“You left too quickly the other day. I wanted to thank you again,” he says.

He looks right in Ringo’s bright blue eyes. When he hears that, Ringo seems to darken a bit. Again he repeats that it was his pleasure, that it was nothing. George feels like he might actually be a bother to him, but he's still feeling bold so he points at his t-shirt.

“It’s a shame. I put this one on to show it to you. Thought you might like it, as ...”

He trails off as Ringo’s eyes trace the large coffee stain before focusing on what's written underneath.

_Joyful the sound, the word goes around:_

_Life is real. Life is a bitch._

Ringo hasn’t any drink in front of him but he chokes nevertheless.

“Oh my God. For real? Where did you get that one?”

George grins widely. Usually he tries not to, as it's revealing his sharp canines to the world, but today it doesn’t bother him.

“I made it myself – well, designed it. There are websites where you can order exactly what you want,” he explains proudly.

Ringo is still contemplating him with these big, bulging eyes.

“So you really like Queen?” he asks.

George nods. “They're my favourite band. With Bon Jovi, but I think Queen tops them by an inch.”

“Oh,” Ringo simply says.

“What?”

“Well … Here I was thinking you'd say something nasty against them at any moment. A lot of people do that when I tell them I love Queen, you know. It's either that or they dissect Bohemian Rhapsody thinking it will please me.”

Ringo seems to grow more comfortable by the minute. His head is even shaking a little from side to side as he's talking, something that George has trouble not focusing all his attention on. It's absolutely adorable, but _no_. He's too interested in what the other lad is saying to get lost in his eyes. _Get a hold of yerself, Geo._

“So,” he grins. “Is Bohemian Rhapsody your favourite song?”

As much as they both like the song, it's not their favourite. They spend the next twenty minutes discussing every aspect they can think about. Their favourite songs, which albums they prefer, the use of synths on tracks, what album covers are better, CD or vinyl? They discuss it all and even venture around the forbidden Hot Space Topic – due to drama reasons, their respective opinions on that work won't be disclosed in the present fanfiction. George finds himself enjoying the conversation more than any other he's had recently. Speaking about what you like is really the best – and though Paul appreciates Queen to an extent, he does get fed up when George feels like analysing every other line from “Dog With A Bone”. And Ringo is such a lively person now that his self-consciousness seems to have vanished. When they disagree, he's even opposing arguments to George. He never stops being kind and considerate, but two things are obvious: he knows what he's talking about, and he will take no shit about it.

“What's your favourite member?” Ringo asks after a heated debate involving platform boots and clogs.

“Oh! It depends. You talking about looks, about who I’ve got a crush on? Or about who writes the best songs? Or about ...” George trails off when he sees Ringo's surprised face. “Sorry, where did I lose you?”

Ringo shakes his head but smiles. “Sorry. You lost me at the word _crush_ , I guess. I didn’t think you were bi.”

He _sounds_ pretty understanding and open-minded, so George decides to correct him.

“Gay. That's why Pattie and I broke up, actually. I used to think I was bi but I realized I wasn’t. And pretty much at the same time Pattie had the same realization, so it was all very well.”

He spares a glance in Pattie's direction. It's not as if he's outing her or anything. The girl is snogging her girlfriend ten feet away from them, happy and paying them no mind.

Ringo smiles as he follows George’s gaze.

“Cute ... So, who's your crush then?”

“You can't make fun of me,” George warns him.

He's feeling a bit antsy somehow, all of a sudden. Staring at Ringo's eyes isn’t helping him in the slightest, because it's reminding him _why_ he should have kept quiet on the subject in the first place. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out of it.

“I won’t make fun of you but don't make fun of me,” Ringo says gently, grabbing his hoodie on the table and fiddling with the hem. “I used to have a crush on John.”

George gasps audibly, so audibly in fact that some guys nearby turn around to look at them.

“On John?” he repeats, feeling like a puppet in a ventriloquist’ hand - he's got no control on what he's saying and his brain is in slow-mode. Ringo, gay too, just like him – that much his brain can easily process, it's a _good_ surprise actually – but _John?_ Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.

“Yes. Oh, wait! I forgot to ask you if you were team Deacy or Deaky.”

“Listen Ringo, you’re cool and all but I'm not following you right ...” George's brows furrow even more as realization dawns on him. “Oh my God. You meant _that John_. _John Deacon_.”

“We’ll of course, what did you ...” Ringo stops in the middle of his sentence too, before erupting into laughter. “John _Lennon!_ I can't believe it!”

“Shhh!” George says, looking around with a suspicious gaze. “Don’t say his name, it'll summon him.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want him to appear right now since he's been teasing me about it forever.”

“Deaky’s cool. Especially during the late 80s. Why would ... the other John make fun of you?”

“Now I know what team you’re in,” Ringo comments, flashing him an insecure smile. “I like him more in the 70s, though, and ... Uh. That's embarrassing.”

_Something embarrassing about Queen, that may involve one John or both?_ Now George wants to know, so much that he doesn’t hesitate to put his own shame at stake, not even thinking twice about what it'll _mean_ when he’ll have to disclose it.

“I’ll tell you my deepest secret right after,” he promises. “Here, want a sip of coffee? It's cold.”

He pushes the cup towards the other lad and it makes him crack a smile.

“Why would I even want to drink cold, way too-sugary coffee? But thanks. Well. John likes to make fun of me about John because ... Because I think you're a bit like him, and I may have mentioned that fact to him once.”

Now _this_ isn’t what George was waiting for.

“Not saying I’m hitting on you or anything!” Ringo adds hurriedly. “It’s just that you’re really quiet when around new people, or during big gatherings. And you look at people as if you're thinking a lot in your head but won’t say a thing ... That's quite mysterious. And your hair isn’t as long as Deacy wore it in the early 70s, but it still falls all over your face, and uh, well. A lot of your clothes are made of velvet, and he once said it was his favourite fabric. So every time you’re around I get all nervous because it makes me think about him. Yeah. Now you can think I’m weird if you want but I promise I have no ill intention.”

Ringo looks exhausted after saying all this. He reaches forward and grabs the coffee cup, taking it to his lips.

“Too sweet, like I thought. And horribly cold,” he mutters.

“I understand,” George blurts out.

“You’re saying this to make me feel better. Speaking of resembling the fantasy version we have of Deacy in the fandom ...”

“No!” George abruptly cuts him off, feeling it's _now or never, I’ve got to say it or stay quiet for the rest of my life because I ain't, ever, raising the topic again_ , “No, I really understand. You remind me of Roger.”

Both let the words sink in for a moment. It's as if their surroundings, all the people around them – even the clatter of dishes far away – have vanished into the air. It's only them, their honesty and the small touches of awkwardness lingering into the air.

“I get he's your crush, then?”

George nods.

Ringo doesn’t laugh and it's a relief.

“Roger _is_ handsome,” Ringo allows. He has nothing in common with me though. Maybe you need glasses or someth-”

“You’re short. That's incredibly endearing, I can't help it, okay? You walk around wearing shades all the time. Don't pretend it doesn’t remind you of someone. And your eyes ... Well, they're even bluer than Roger's. It's very unsettling, you know. Guess I developed a bit of a crush on you as well, after all ...”

George said it. He _said it._ A weight has definitely been lifted from his shoulders, and though the stain on his t-shirt remains he feels way better.

“You know, Roger and I have another thing in common,” Ringo adds sheepishly.

George raises his eyebrows.

“I play the drums too.”

George's enthusiastic reaction is followed by many a shake of the head from the drummer, who insists on acknowledging he's half as good as Roger is. George doesn’t believe it and gives him a piece of his mind before adding with a crooked smile, “You know, I don't play the bass but I still have a guitar.”

Just like that, equality has been re-established again. If they both _had_ the tiniest bit of crush on the other, what does it matter? _Nothing matters if it's shared_ , is what George’s brain keeps chanting. Suddenly they don't care anymore. Maybe someone opened the windows of the cafeteria to let in some fresh air, or maybe awkwardness just left their booth, ready to bother other souls. What's sure is they've got plenty to discuss and no time to lose in blushing and such.

Of course, the first question Ringo asks is, “have you ever done Queen covers, then?” George has, just like him. They proceed to list which songs they can both play.

It's not every day you meet a Queen fan who's as deep in the fandom as you are, and it’s not every week you get to wear twice a limited-edition Queen hoodie that isn’t even yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter makes sense. I'm posting it as break from the most horrendous latin translation I ever had to do and my brain isn't functioning properly anymore so I hope there aren't too many mistakes.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you're all well <3


	3. Bohemian Rhapsody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Ringo watch Bohemian Rhapsody for the first time.

“But why can’t I go with you? I'm your best friend!” Paul asks for what seems like the millionth time that day.

He sounds like a child who’s been denied a well-earned chocolate ice cream. _How is he even older than me?_ George wonders briefly before answering, with his most patient voice, “Because I’m going with Ritchie.”

“But I could just tag along!”

George frowns until he can mentally feel his eyebrows touching. “You? Going with us? To see a movie about Freddie Mercury? You're not even a Queen fan.”

“I _like_ Queen!” Paul pouts.

“Oh, right. And speaking about that,” George grins, “I wanted to know your feelings about Human Body. Don’t you think it should’ve been on the album?”

“Which album? Wait … What’s the name of the song?”

George’s smile doesn’t falter as Paul groans something in which the word _unfair_ can definitely be heard.

“Listen Paul,” George says cautiously, hating the idea of leaving Paul while he's upset. “Of course you're my best friend. And I’d love to see that movie with you. We could go back tomorrow if you'd like, I’m sure I’ll need to see it a dozen times anyway. But tonight you wouldn’t enjoy it – Ritchie and I will just be snickering or tearing up in a corner and you'll really- you'd feel left out, mate.”

Paul lets out a low hum. Whether it means he agrees or not George can't tell.

“Just let him go on his date, Paulie,” a voice interrupts them. “He’s gonna be late because of you.”

_John._ George checks his watch before turning around. “You’re right, I really should go. I’m supposed to meet Ritchie in front of his flat in ten minutes.”

“You don’t deny then?” John says, triumph beginning to paint on his face.

“Gave up long ago on making you understand Ringo and I aren't together,” George comments, unbothered, as he heads off to put his shoes on – their place is still so messy, how on earth could his left shoe end up hidden in a boot? “Besides, platonic dates exist. But I’d suggest you take _your_ boyfriend to a romantic one as soon as possible. Not that I mean to pry or anything.”

“Thanks for leaving him all grumpy!” John complains with an amused tone.

George has the time to hear Paul's indignant voice say, “I’m not a child you two are taking turns babysitting, Lennon!” before he closes the flat door.

The minute he's outside, he forgets everything about his two friends. He can’t wait to meet Ringo.

The two of them met in April. A new term has now begun and it has found them incredibly closer than anything they could have expected. At this point, George feels like he couldn’t live without his friend. Talking about Queen, listening to Queen, playing covers together and overall being huge fans together remains one of their favourite activities – but there is a whole lot of other things about Ringo that George likes. It seems everything he does instantly becomes fun or at least bearable if Ringo’s there.

So, of course, there's no one else on earth he'd be willing to watch _Bohemian Rhapsody_ with on this 24th of October.

Excitation begins to make his heart beat faster as he crosses the last few yards separating him from Ringo, who's already waiting for him.

“Am I late?” George asks.

Ringo is wearing his favourite hoodie, of course. He really wears it all the time, or just carries it with him when the weather’s too hot. George takes a mental note about it. Buying him a spare Queen hoodie could be the perfect gift for Christmas.

Ringo shakes his head, and strands of hair swing in front of his bright blue eyes that have a special shine to them today.

“Couldn’t wait, that's all.”

And how much have they been waiting for that movie, really.

They begin to walk, their pace a bit quicker than usual.

“Have you seen that post on Tumblr?” Ringo asks midway to the cinema, which is only a few streets away.

George instantly knows what he’s talking about and nods. “Yeah.”

“Did you read it?”

Ringo glances at him from the corner of his eye.

George shakes his head this time. “No. Good for them if they already saw the movie, but I don’t see the point in reading a post beginning by _this thing is utter shit folks and I’ll tell you why_.”

“Right. I didn’t read it either,” Ringo admits.

Only a few more minutes and they're sitting in the back row in a room that is quickly filling with people. Then a few more and the lights are turned off, leaving them in the dark until the screen lights up. Some excruciating minutes again, and it’s finally time for the movie to begin.

George and Ringo have discussed about _Bohemian Rhapsody_ for weeks on end before today. They know what they are entitled to expect, what they can't reasonably ask from a movie aimed at people who are not “specialists”. It would be counterproductive to expect the movie to show the recording of some unreleased track. It would be naive to expect the producers to not change some traits and schematize complex stories and personalities. Overwise it would last ten hours. The two of them would certainly enjoy it, but the cinema wouldn’t be overcrowded as it is now.

They have discussed all this, and they have agreed on everything.

Still, there are moments when they react to the story unfolding before their eyes. There are moments when they cringe, when they frown, when they're elated, when they tear up. It's a movie.

“Oh, I need to see it again right now!” a man in his fifties cries out to no one in particular as they leave the cinema two hours later.

They walk past a few people they know, including Pattie who doesn’t notice even notice them. She’s too busy listening to her girlfriend who seems absolutely shaken as she clings onto her arm, saying, “Why, why didn’t you ever tell me this band existed before? I need it in my life!”

The sight is too touching to pretend they haven’t heard. Both George and Ringo turn their heads toward them, just in time to see Pattie reach out to pat her girlfriend’s head softly.

“Don’t worry, Lauren. I’ve got one or two of their albums back at the flat. If you can find them, that is.”

Suddenly a hand grips George’s arm, distracting him from the scene.

“Watch out!” Ringo says hurriedly. He pulls him to the side just in time, saving George from bumping into a man even bigger than him and carrying an open can of soda.

“Thanks,” George blurts out once he’s finally processed what nearly happened to him.

“You’re welcome. Today’s the only day when I’m not willing to lend you my hoodie.”

George hums in approval. He’d much rather not get drenched by soda if he can avoid it. For once.

When they're finally outside, they are welcomed by the cold night breeze and the move shining above the city. They turn to one another and smile. Their grins are as big as they can get, and they don’t need to talk – not right now, not yet, they still need to come down from the high – to know they both loved the movie.

And it sure is going to bring new people in the fandom. _Now_ , contrary to what John likes to say George isn’t a vampire but he can’t deny they need fresh blood on AO3. It’s been so long since he’s read a good Joger fic.

“Mine?” Ringo asks as they begin to walk in the darkness.

“Yes please,” George says, his voice a bit hoarse. “I don't wanna talk to Paul and John right now.”

“I’m flattered Georgie.”

“Didn’t say I was going to talk to you, did I?” George teases.

They walk by a lamp post, and then another. George counts them absentmindedly, still trying to bring his head around this hell of a movie. It really has shaken him. He's sure Ringo's feeling the same – they’re alike when it comes to Queen.

“So ...” Ringo begins as they reach the eleventh lamp post on their path. “Did this movie renew your old flame for Roger?”

George scoffs. “We’re just out of it and the first question you ask me is about that damn crush! You're not the one I thought you were, Ritchie.”

They reach the twelfth lamp post as George decides to answer his question. “No. No, it didn’t.”

“Why?”

But George doesn’t know. Ben Hardy is gorgeous, even though he looks nothing like Roger. George should be all heart-eyes right now. Yet he isn’t. Not for him, at least.

“Wait a minute,” he says. “I’ve got to think.”

Ringo eyes him from the side, George knows he does. These bright blue eyes never fail to scrutinize him, accept him, understand him.

They keep walking. Soon they'll be at Ringo’s flat. George doesn’t know why, but he feels like he has to sort this out _now_. Truth isn’t far away, he's just got to find it.

He folds his arms against his chest, and as usual Ringo senses his mood has shifted. Wordlessly, he guides them to a bench, just below their sixteenth lamp post of the evening.

“It was just a joke, Geo,” Ringo tells him. “You don't have to ... worry so much.”

George crosses his legs on the bench so he can turn and face Ringo.

“Didn’t you like the movie?” his friend asks, a hint of uncertainty lingering in his tone.

“I did.”

Ringo smiles in relief. It makes George feel instantly better. Better than the movie did – even better than the sound of Roger Taylor crooning in his ear could make him feel.

Ringo's waiting, eyes fixed on him, face trusting and open. How close they have become in the short amount of time they have spent together is something George often marvels at. They're almost like that two headed beast that is JohnandPaul; sometimes they don’t even need to communicate. A glance is enough. A smile changes everything. Just like it works for they practically married friends ...

And with that, George realizes what was bugging him.

“I don't have a crush on Roger anymore,” he blurts out.

“Really?” Ringo says, surprise showing in his tone.

“They didn’t even bother to give the poor guy lenses! His eyes were green or whatever! This is outrageous.”

“I knew you were gonna say that,” Ringo smiles, slowly relaxing.

“But even ... Even Roger’s eyes aren’t blue enough anymore.”

Ringo pales suddenly, then his face reddens. He understood. George knows he did.

“I didn’t think you'd say that, though.”

“Sorry?” George says.

That last word came out as a question more than anything else. Ringo doesn’t look away; he's just staring owlishly at his friend. It merely makes George feel like he's drowning in his blue eyes a bit more.

“Are you serious?” Ringo asks, tipping his head to the side.

“Life is real. You're better than any crush on the younger version of an old rockstar,” George admits.

“Oh God,” Ringo breathes out. “I thought you'd never say that.”

He moves closer and his eyes flutter close. George was so glued to them that he's about to beg him to open his damn eyes right away until a pair of lips meet his. Ringo grips his neck, and it’s as though George’s become a statue because he can’t make a single movement. He even forgets to breathe for a second, staying there on the bench and allowing himself be kissed.

Ringo's kiss is fierce and passionate, as if he's refrained himself from doing it for too long. It leaves George dazed and without any will except that of staying there forever. One of Ringo's hands leaves his neck and finds its way to his hair. George can't do anything but he had the strength to kiss him back as Ringo forces his lips onto his. Their mouths caress one another relentlessly, never pulling apart, until George feels overwhelmed and lightly grips Ringo's shoulder – his hands must have moved of their own accord because he can't remember when they settled on the drummer's chest. Ringo immediately lets go of him.

“Sorry. Did I overstep boundaries?”

His breath comes out in short, ragged puffs. He sounds even happier than when they left the cinema.

George shakes his head. The gesture makes stars twinkle in the corner of his eyes and he grips Ringo’s hand for support. _For support, really?_

“Just didn’t expect it. Thought all this was only friendship, I ...” he lets out a shaky laugh. “I’ve been so oblivious. I realized only now.”

“Do you want to take it slower?”

George shuffles impossibly closer to the shorter man. This time, he's the one to initiate the kiss. Feelings bubble in his chest, making him feel like his heart wants to go out of his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispers in-between small pecks.

“Good. Because I’ve been pining after you for months,” Ringo grins.

George thinks back to all this times they've been gushing on Roger and Deaky. Maybe, and it makes more sense than he thought it would, maybe he's been doting on Ringo more than on the famous drummer. Maybe his own, blue-eyed and amazing tiny drummer friend has been all he wanted all along, from the moment his pants ripped up to now, now that his hands cup his cheeks.

“To be honest, I might have been too,” he whispers.

They kiss again. That night, they don't talk that much about _Bohemian Rhapsody_. They'll go see it again in the morning, and this time it'll be a date. They might even let Paul and John tag along for a double date when they've seen it five times – or six, depending on how they share their time staring at the screen or at their boyfriend's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually discovered Queen thanks to Bohemian Rhapsody so this fic means a lot to me! I loved writing it. Thank you to all of you who left comments and kudos <3 they made me really happy.
> 
> Also I had the idea of Ringo finally saving George on time *before* something happens to his clothes thanks to Rufusrant's comment last chapter, so thank you!! And of course I added that little scene between Pattie and her girlfriend thanks to CelesteFitzgerald, so really this chapter isn't mine only :)
> 
> Sending love to you all one last time (before the next fic, which won't take long since the maximum date for the McLennon BB is slowly approaching. I really need to edit the Thing I wrote back in August. And I'm still writing AU part 2!).

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you like it so far but either way I'd like to know what you think about it :) I've pretty much written the other two chapters so I'll update tomorrow or the day after!
> 
> Also, if anyone who's read "A Love That's Shining All Around Here" (the AU in which George writes starrison smut, yay) comes by, I've begun to write the second part this morning, so hopefully it won't take me too long either to post it.
> 
> I wish you all a good night or day <3


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